Recovering
by MorrisCreek
Summary: George Weasley is miserable. Even in his worst nightmares he never imagined a life without Fred. And his feeble attempts at "living" have his family and friends worried about him.
1. Chapter 1

George Weasley hadn't left the flat above his shop in two weeks. After the initial elation of Voldemort's defeat had worn off, the unbearable absence of his twin overcame him. The "closed" sign on the storefront hadn't changed in over a month. He even refused to answer the knocks on his door from concerned family members.

First, Arthur and Molly tried to reach out to him. It hadn't worked, of course. They were completely distraught as well, but none of them could comprehend the pain the others were in. How could George know how it felt to lose a child, and Molly and Arthur a twin? They gave up after a few hours of absolutely no answers. "We love you, George. Please be okay, love. We have tons of food at the house. You know we are always here for you." George heard a gut-wrenching sob from Molly as they turned to leave.

Next came Percy, surprisingly. "George." He said softly. "George, please answer the door. I know you're in there." Percy's voice was clawing at his eardrums. Percy was, of course, the last person Fred had spoken to before his death.

"Go away." Was all George could manage past the door. Percy didn't argue with him any longer. As his footsteps faded behind the door George couldn't shake Fred's last words from his head.

 _"You're joking, Perce! You actually are joking, Perce. I don't think I've heard you joke since we were…"_

George wiped tears away from his eyes. Those two visits had been within two days of each other. He was given some reprieve for a few days, but then the knocks started again.

"Little brother." The voice was calm. "Have you eaten?" George chose not to respond. "C'mon George. It's Bill. I didn't bring Fleur." He paused before jiggling the handle. "I want to respect your privacy. Please don't make me unlock it with a spell." George still didn't care. What did privacy matter? He had never had privacy with Fred. He thought he heard Bill pull out his wand, but suddenly he spoke through the door again. "I love you, George. We're all hurting, but none of us can imagine how this is for you just—" Bill stopped. "Just please let me in next time okay?"

George nodded, despite the fact Bill couldn't see through the door. Bill was about to ask for a sign of life, but suddenly George's sobs let him know he was there, whether he was answering or not. And with that, Bill left.

The next day Charlie came. The usual knocks came with him. "George." Charlie was quiet. "I'm not here to tell you everything is fine. We're all miserable. I'm not asking you to leave this place. I'm not asking for a response. I know you're in there because you're my brother and I know you. Please think about visiting someone soon. Or letting someone in." He stopped. "I won't bother you any longer. Love you, bub." Charlie's heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and out of earshot.

Again, George had no response. What could be said? What did they want from him? The only person who had known everything about him was gone. In every fathomable way. What good was magic when it can't bring back your loved ones?

There was a break for four days of no visitors. Then suddenly he heard the sound of fast steps running up the stairs. "George Weasley!" The voice was angry. And straining to hold back tears. "George you open the door right this second." His only sister's voice was sad and tight.

"Ginny don't." Harry's voice was soft. "Ginny." George imagined Harry must have been pulling her arm away from the spot where her wand sat in her jacket. "George?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry." Was all he managed.

"Please go away." Those were the most words George had managed in the past month.

"No." Ginny barked. "You let us in this room so I can hug you or I swear I will break this door down with my bare hands and pinch you on the arm."

George rolled his eyes. "Not today, please." Three more words.

"George. We love you. I'll be back next week with Ron." Harry mumbled through the door. George could hear Ginny's sobbing on the other side and it made his stomach hurt. And as had everyone else's, their footsteps disappeared as they walked back down the stairs.

It couldn't have been a full twenty-four hours after this encounter before more visitors arrived. The footsteps were heavy and the knocks unsure. "George?" Ron's voice was cracking already. "George we can't do this without you."

There was a moment where George considered letting Ron in. Ron had been the closest with the twins and, although he was often their punching bag and butt of all their jokes, Ron's voice was the most comforting one to come through the door so far. "I just need this, Ron." At least this time there were more words.

"George. I can't do this. I know if I feel this way that you feel this way a trillion times over. Please let us in. Hermione's here. She has tea." Ron's voice cracked again and he sniffed back tears.

Hermione took over. "George, we're not trying to force you to do anything. I just hate to see you do this alone." Her voice was maternal sounding. "I can't open this door. We won't do that to you. But please come by the Burrow and let us see you sometime soon. We love you so much."

"Go away." George struggled.

"Damn it all to hell, George!" Ron was angry crying. "Quit being so stubborn! Just—"

Hermione cut him off. "We're going now, George." The sounds of Ron being pulled down the stairs were loud and clumsy and George was sure he heard quiet sobs at the bottom of the stairs.

George knew his family had nothing but good intentions, but all he wanted was to sink into his bed and drift into eternal sleep. At least there he could be reunited with Fred. And the pain would be gone. He fell asleep not too long after Ron and Hermione had left.

OoOoOoO

George awoke in a cold sweat. He didn't sleep much anymore. When he did, he was cursed with nightmares reliving the sight of Fred's body lying motionless on the floor in the pile of rubble that once was the wall that fell on him. The dreams made him sick to his stomach.

Suddenly he was running to the bathroom. He heaved into the toilet, but nothing came. Throwing up hurt, but it was nothing compared to dry heaving. At least vomiting has a sense of relief once your stomach has purged itself of whatever was causing the discomfort. When there's nothing to relieve itself of you just get the miserableness without the relief.

All George wanted was some relief. He stumbled to his cabinets. There were still beads of sweat on his forehead. His face was matted to the back of his neck. His face was covered in red stubble. His fingers clumsily found the cabinet handles. He pulled it open to find no food left. George next tried to refrigerator. Still no food. He couldn't remember when he had run out. In fact, he couldn't remember when he had last eaten. Yesterday? Two days ago? Last week?

Time was unflinching in the wake of Fred's death. The sun still rose and set. The moon still shone at night. All of this made George more melancholy. Where was the respect? The world had lost the best person it had created and yet nothing stopped. No one stopped. No one except George. Left permanently one-half of his former self. Never again could he be whole.

The stumbling and fumbling around made George's headache and stomach pain worsen. He crawled back to his bed. He pulled his pillow into his face and wailed again. He wasn't sure how there were still tears to be shed. Surely his body had gotten rid of all the tears it could produce, but each night his body proved him wrong.

OoOoOoO

There was no telling how long George laid face down into the pillow, but he got the urge to check his watch for the time. It was one in the morning. This time last year Fred and George would've been sharing a shot or two and laughing. Now George was glued to his bed and trying to figure out the last time he had had a meal. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Suddenly there were two quiet pops inside the room. "Oh no, mate." George recognized the voice. "George. Open your eyes I know you're not asleep." Lee Jordan's voice reverberated in his ears and George chanced a look.

To his surprise Lee wasn't alone. Standing there beside him was Angelina. They both looked terrible. Not in the same state as George, but pitiful looking nonetheless.

Angelina eyed George up and down on the bed. "Are you eating?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I ought to slap you."

"She's right, mate. You can't starve yourself. C'mon, let's get you some food. We brought some stuff just in case you were like this."

"No." George said quietly. "I can't. I'm not hungry."

Lee shook his head. "We're not doing this with you. Your family can coddle you. We are here because we're not going to let you dissolve into a shell of your former self."

George was angry now. "You don't know how I feel!"

"You're too busy being miserable to consider that other people lost someone too, George!" Angelina shot back. "We lost a very good friend. I know it's nothing compared to you losing him, but you aren't the only one dealing with it." Tears were brimming her eyes.

George shifted his focus to Lee. His eyes looked the same, full of tears. "We're not leaving. So you can either join us in the kitchen or stay in here wasting away. But you're going to do it while you have company."


	2. Chapter 2

George rolled his eyes. But he reluctantly agreed to go to the kitchen. He sat down at the table and looked limp. The other two sat in chairs across from him. No one spoke for a long while. The greasy pizza they had picked up in London before crossing into Diagon Alley looked appetizing, but even his most basic instincts were telling George he couldn't take a bite. Fred would never get to take another bite. Why should he?

Lee had placed a spell on the pizza to keep it from getting cold and ruined, so he didn't force anything onto George. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the flat. On the other side, away from the front door and away from George's room, Fred's closed door was staring at him. There was dust in the hallway leading up to it. Obviously George hadn't managed to leave his half. But Lee hadn't expected him to.

Angelina was also looking around. She couldn't look at Fred's door, so instead she looked behind her towards where George was staying. The kitchen was barren, his bed sheets obviously yellowed from sweat, and papers were thrown around the room from George's multiple breakdowns. Sometimes anger helped. Sometimes anger helped push away the sadness. But eventually your mind needs a break. It can only handle pain, sadness, and anger for so long before it snaps.

Angelina had been sobbing and exhausted since she had learned of Fred's death. She hardly slept and only ate as often as Katie and Alicia made her. They were close to Fred, but Fred, George, Lee, Angelina had really formed a tightknit bond after leaving Hogwarts. Angelina was lost in thought and about to have a breakdown herself when the sound of clanging glass brought her back to reality.

In front of them Lee had set down a bottle of Firewhisky. "We're all taking a shot." He pushed three shot glasses in front of them. "George. I'm going to shove a slice of pizza down your throat if you don't take a bloody bite."

"For fuck's sake, Lee. I'm not hungry—"

"You're a lying sack of hippogriff piss. You're paler than is acceptable even by Weasley standards. Take a bite or so help me—"

"Fine!" George shouted and lifted a piece to his lips. He took a small bite at first. He expected it to come back up immediately, but luckily nothing happened. Instead, George's instincts begged him to take another bite. The emptiness in his stomach was gnawing at him. He still couldn't remember the last time he had had food. All the days ran together anymore.

Suddenly he was finishing one slice and moving on to the next one. And the next one. And finally a fourth piece. George had practically inhaled the four slices. He stopped again, just waiting for the pizza to make its way back up. However, his body still had a shred of self-preservation and was able to keep calm for ten minutes. Deciding he had won the battle, George looked up to the faces in front of him. He didn't say anything. Instead, Lee nodded towards the bottle and George raised an eyebrow.

Lee filled each shot and passed them out. It was quiet. No one was pulling the glass to their lips and the silence was beginning to be deafening. Angelina was about to open her mouth when George spoke up.

"To Fred?"

"To Fred." They chorused and threw the shot into their mouths.

OoOoOoO

George awoke with a splitting headache. The light coming in through the windows was shining directly into his eyes. Which was weird, seeing as he always had the curtains drawn in his bedroom.

That's when he realized that he wasn't, in fact, in his bedroom. He was on the couch in the living room. His memory of the night before was foggy. The last thing he remembered was taking a fifth shot of Firewhisky and looking across the table at Angelina and Lee. All of them looked thinner, exhausted, and sad. The war had changed them. Fred's death had changed them.

As George looked around he was scanning the room for his friends. Lee was sleeping in a reclining chair and still snoring. But he didn't see Angelina. He considered the fact that she may have left earlier before either of them woke up, so he decided to grab a glass of water. The glass barely touched his lips before he practically inhaled the liquid. He was more than dehydrated. Having not ate or drank regularly in the past month combined with his terrible hangover made the water sweet relief.

And, as with all mornings, George felt the urge to pee. He walked to the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat. He had just begun to pee when he heard a cough behind him. George jumped and pulled his pants up quickly. "Merlin! Give a man a warning, yeah?"

Angelina was obviously embarrassed. "Sorry, sorry. I just—" She paused. "I just had to use the restroom. Being hung over makes the rest of my senses not work as well or I would have heard you, I swear."

She backed out of the room and closed the door behind her. George took the opportunity to finish up and brush his teeth before stepping back out. "There. Now you can use it." Angelina gratefully walked in as he left.

George walked back out into the living room and saw Lee was starting to rise for the day. "You alright, mate?"

"Never better." Lee mumbled and rubbed his temples. "I've got to use the restroom."

"Angelina's in there right now. You'll have to wait."

"Isn't there another one on the other—" Lee stopped. Realizing the other restroom was on Fred's half and not wanting to bring it up any further. "Right, well she better hurry."

George didn't say anything. He knew what Lee was about to say and was thankful he didn't finish his sentence. They sat in silence another couple of minutes before Angelina came out. She had her hair wrapped in a towel and was in fresh clothes. "I hope you don't mind I took a shower." George shook his head. "It eases my hangover."

"Right, well I'm taking a shower too, mate. Stealing a towel." Lee said.

George blushed a little. When had he last done laundry? When had he last showered? Was it obvious how little care he had been taking of himself? He looked at Angelina and she was staring right back. Lee ignored him and walked to the bathroom.

"You going to shower as well?" Angelina asked him.

"I—uh—probably not, no." He stammered.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, not going anywhere. Doesn't matter either way."

"You know," She said. "It might make you feel a bit better. We could all go have breakfast somewhere in town and—"

"No." He cut her off. "I'm not leaving this flat."

"George you can't just hole yourself up here for the rest of eternity, y'know."

George felt a lump rise in his throat. "I'm aware of that, Angelina. I just don't want to."

Angelina chose to ignore the tone he had used with her. Instead she got up and started walking past George. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"To take another nap."

"Where have you been sleeping?"

She looked at him. "Well I woke up in your bed, so I must've stumbled back there last night."

George thought about the sweat-stained sheets and unkemptness of his room and his embarrassment showed. "You slept in my bed?"

"Yes. And I'm about to go do so again. Unless you're opposed?"

"It's dirty. You shouldn't be sleeping in it." He was talking quickly. "And there's rubbish all in my room. And it probably smells. I probably smell. I don't think I've showered in three weeks. I don't think I had eaten much then either. I can feel the hair attached to my neck. Fred's room is still full of his stuff. There's dust collecting on it. How do I—" George started crying. He collapsed into a ball on the floor. "I CAN'T DO THIS!"

Lee ran out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. "What's going on?" He looked at George who was on the floor. His crying had changed to weeps. "George, you'll get through this."

"I won't." He said simply. "We always said we would do everything together. We would get a big house; both have families under the same roof, spend every day at the shop together, and then—and then die together. We would just go to sleep one night and both of us not wake up the next morning." He sniffled again. "It isn't fair."

Angelina put an unsure hand on his shoulder. "Life isn't fair, George. You know that."

He didn't respond. "Fred wouldn't want to see you like this, George." Lee said solemnly. "If it had been you instead, would you want Fred to be like this?"

George ignored the important part of Lee's statement. "I wish it _was_ me instead." He rolled onto his back while staying on the floor. His face was red and tear-stained, which had become its permanent state in the last month.

Lee shook his head and walked back to the bathroom so he could properly clothe himself. Angelina disappeared to do her hair. Both came back a few moments later. "Can we at least get you to go to the store for food? There's nothing here to eat. You're going to—"

"No. God damn it, Angie. No. I just want to lie on this floor and be miserable. Just let me have that."

Lee shook his head at him again and lowered it. "Fine. But we're bringing food back to put in the cabinets. Then we will go."

OoOoOoO

George hadn't moved when Angelina and Lee had returned. They both carried bags of food. Neither said a word to him. Instead, they began putting the food away.

George had cocked his neck slightly to look at his friends. "Why," His mouth was dry so he tried again. "Why aren't you just using your wands to put the food away?"

Lee shrugged. "Nothing else to do, I s'pose."

"I find it cathartic." She added.

"I'll finish the rest." George said to them. "You can go home now. I'll manage."

"It's really no trouble, mate." Lee told him.

"You weren't managing very well before we got here." Angelina eyed him.

He didn't respond. It took about fifteen more minutes to get everything put up and the bags put away. George had stayed silent. The other two didn't even have conversation. The silence was biting.

Angelina looked around the flat. "Do you need any help clean—"

"Nope."

"What about the shop?" Lee asked the question and it hung in the air. "I can open it back up, George. You don't even have to be involved."

"No."

"Really George? It can't stay closed much longer you won't have the funds to keep it open. How will you—"

"No, Lee. I've said it already. It's our—my—shop. And I said no."

"But it was my job, too, mate." Lee pleaded.

"I'm sorry." Was all George said. "I think it's time for you two to go." There was an awkward tension in the room now.

Angelina struggled against herself. A noise came from her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but stopped. Instead her arms fell in defeat and she conjured her and Lee's things to them.

"I really think—"

"Out." George pointed to the front door and Lee and Angelina walked out. Both turned and looked at him sadly before it closed behind them.

OoOoOoO

It felt like hours before he moved from his spot on the floor. But the moonlight pooling in the room told him he should get up. As George braced himself against the couch and pulled his weight up, he chanced a look across the apartment. In the dark hallway he could still make out the sight of Fred's door.

He battled with himself, weary and eyes sore from constant crying, over whether he should just go straight to bed or let his feet wander where his subconscious seemed determined to go. "I can't." He whispered aloud to himself.

But even his outward refusal wasn't enough to deter his feet. Suddenly he was in the hallway. It was too dark to move successfully, but he didn't want to turn on the hallway lights. "Lumos." His wand was bright white at the tip.

His eyes looked at the floor beneath him. His footprints left in the dust that he had let settle. His embarrassment that people had been in his flat while he left it in this condition deepened and despite that no one was there he blushed furiously.

While George was lost in thought he managed to walk all the way to Fred's door. All he had to do was reach out and grab the handle. A simple turn of the wrist and he would be in his twin's bedroom for the first time since his death. He pulled his arm up and began extending it when he pulled it back sharply.

Suddenly he was sick to his stomach and bent over his own toilet again. The familiar pain in his stomach was back. Had he eaten today? He couldn't remember, but the point was moot anyways. He had no appetite again.

"Some Gryffindor." George mumbled to himself over the toilet. "Can't even open a bloody door." Tears pooled in his eyes for the millionth time. He pulled the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe the spit from the corners.

He staggered back to his bed and fell in a heap. His hands reached his temples, trying to rub away the headache. His eyes were tightly shut, he was hoping that if he closed them it would prevent more tears from coming. George was starting to get irritated with himself. Every night the same routine: cry, vomit, headache, cry more, sleep, wake up, and repeat.

He felt the pain in his stomach as strong and reminiscent of the night before when he had slices of pizza. His body was aching for sustenance, but his brain was fighting it. George willed himself to forget about the food in the cabinets and in the refrigerator. "I was doing fine. Just fine. And then they bring over that ruddy Firewhisky and pizza and now I'm sick and feel worse than before." He rolled his eyes and positioned his back to his bedroom door. "Nothing's any better than the day before."

And for the next however many days this was the exact routine George followed. Forgetting to eat all day, continuing to cry at night, and never getting a good night's sleep. It was an unrelenting cycle.

George awoke to the feeling that someone was watching him. He didn't open his eyes right away. The childhood belief that if you kept your eyes closed whatever was scaring you would go away took over. But, as he squeezed them shut tighter he heard someone say his name.


	3. Chapter 3

"George?" The voice was Ron. "Wake up, you lazy git."

Finally he opened his eyes. Ron wasn't alone, Harry was with him. "What are you doing here?"

Harry shrugged. "I promised I would be back the week after I saw you, but I didn't hold up to that. We," He gestured to he and Ron. "Decided to see if you would contact us first. But since you haven't…."

"We're here to contact you." Ron finished for him. "You haven't left this place in two months." Ron eyed the room around him. "And it shows."

George took offense. "Sod off."

"No, no. Lee and Angelina have been here multiple times trying to help you. We're here for the same reason." Harry added. "We had Ginny and Hermione do some shopping for food. We've already put it away."

"What? How long have you been here?"

"'Bout an hour. And I'm starving. So get up and eat with us." Ron prodded. "If you don't stand up on your own accord I'm going to drag you out by your hair."

"I'd like to see you try." George grumbled rolled over to face away from the two.

"Fine George. Have it your way." Harry said. "But you're getting up whether you like it or not."

Suddenly George was being lift from his bed. Ron's arms were under his armpits and Harry had hold of his legs. George was struggling against them and trying very hard to swing and kick at each of them. "I'm sorry. It's for your own good." Ron told him.

As they waddled to the kitchen the two sat George in one of he kitchen chairs. There was warm food on the table already prepared. "Mum sent this." Ron gestured to the spread. "Thought it might make you miss home enough to come 'round for a visit."

"Oh great. A guilt trip."

"It isn't a guilt trip, George. Just eat some food. You're skinnier than me." Harry pointed.

"Will you leave if I do?"

"No."

George closed his eyes with exasperation. The conversation was reminiscent of the multiple he had had with Lee and Angelina many times in the last month. "You know, if mum and dad miss me so much they could come here themselves instead of sending you to do their bidding."

Ron's face tinged pink with anger. "We're not doing their bidding. Besides, what do you want them here for?" He looked around again. "It's filthy."

"Ron—" Harry tried to cut him off.

"And you smell." Ron said flatly. "When have you last showered?"

"It's really none of your business—"

"It is my business. Whether you like it or not you're my brother." Ron was flustered. "And Harry's basically you're brother. And we love you. And you're being a prat about everything."

Harry eyed the both of them waiting for an explosion.

"Oh, sorry." George drawled sarcastically. "Sorry I'm not dealing with the loss of Fred up to your standards. Up to everyone else's standards. It's not exactly something I thought through—"

"No one thought about it, George." Harry told him. "C'mon, mate. You can't think you're the only one still suffering. Your mum and dad are miserable, but they're trying to move on." He paused. "We all are."

"What do you want from me?" George yelled. "To just forget he existed? To open the shop and change it to 'George's Wizard Wheezes"? Damn it I'm just trying to get through each night. I don't want to move on."

Ron slammed a fist on the table. "You're not dealing with this the right way. How can you do this to mum and dad? To the rest of us? To yourself." He stopped for a moment. "To Fred's memory?" Ron stopped again to inhale sharply. "You're being selfish." He added harshly.

George didn't respond with words. He set his eyes to the floor and his face flushed. He knew he was dealing with it poorly, but he didn't think about it as being selfish. Not even Lee and Angelina had said it in their many arguments.

No one else spoke. George carefully shoveled bacon, eggs, and toast with jelly into his mouth. His body was always so thankful on the days people came over and felt like arguing with him. George didn't have the motivation to feed or cook for himself, but his instincts yearned for food. And there was no better food than Molly Weasley's.

When George's plate was clear Harry grabbed it to take to the sink with is own. Ron added his plate to the pile in Harry's hand so he could clear the table.

"Are you going now?" George asked quietly.

Harry checked his watch. "No. We've got more to do here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well for one you need to get in the shower." Ron said.

"What for?" George protested.

"Because, you git, I'm not letting you sit here and waste away to nothing. And I won't let you become a stinking pile of troll shit just because you're too bothered to get in the shower." Ron responded.

"Really, George," Harry added. "We're not here to annoy you for no reason. If we didn't care about you we would just let you wither away."

George protested again. "I want to wither away."

"Well too bloody bad." Harry was angry this time. "Go get in the shower or we'll carry you there, too."

"He's not kidding." Ron added.

"Fine." George skidded back his chair and pushed against the table. Again everyone was silent.

OoOoOoO

The walk to the shower was filled with George cursing everyone from Ron to Dumbledore and back again. "Stupid prats. Never asked a one to come here and help me with a fucking thing." He twisted the nobs in the shower. The water was warm almost instantly.

George jumped in and examined himself as the water ran down his back. There was dirt under his nails and by his feet the water was turning a murky grayish-brown. His legs were noticeably thinner than they used to be. His hipbones were staring to become more pronounced. George was embarrassed again. He didn't move for a while. His body was thankful for the warm water. His muscles felt more relaxed.

It was the knock on the bathroom door that jolted him back to reality. "Oy, are you okay in there?" Ron asked from the other side.

"I'm fine."

"You sure? You're taking a longer shower than Hermione. And she has loads of hair."

George felt what could've been the twinge of a smile hit his lips, but he shook it away. Happiness made him feel guilty. "I'll be done soon." He yelled back.

He quickly washed his hair and body and jumped back out to towel off. The towel was wrapped around his waist and he started to brush his teeth. While doing so he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His cheekbones were sticking out and his eyes were sunken and dark on the underneath. His hair was on its way to his shoulders and he had quite a beard growing on his face. George felt sad at his appearance. It felt like ages since he had truly looked at himself.

He blushed. George had never been embarrassed before the war, but with people constantly in his flat he felt it at all times. The invasion of privacy didn't mesh well with his newfound reclusiveness.

OoOoOoO

George walked into his bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweat bottoms and an old Chudley Cannons shirt he had stolen from Ron a long time ago. He felt especially tired now and stumbled into the living room.

"George? Are you alright?" Ron looked at him with concern.

"I—I'm fine. Just tired."

Harry walked over to him. "I, uh, can I feel your head?"

George didn't respond. He was laid back on the couch and his eyes closed already. He could hear Harry and Ron talking, but couldn't much make out what they were saying.

"Is he warm?" Ron asked.

"Too warm." Harry said. "Even for coming out of the shower." The two looked down at George's small frame. He was still very pale. The shower had helped his smell, but it brought out how tiny he was now that his hair was flat and wet to his head and his oversized clothes on him.

"Well, I think we should call your mum and dad." Harry concluded.

Ron shook his head. "George wouldn't want that. We can take him to St. Mungo's. If they say something's serious we can let them know then."

"Fine, fine." Harry looked around. "How are we going to get him there?"

Ron groaned. "I am not carrying him there. Let's try and stand him up." Ron reached over to George and patted his cheek with some force. "George, can you stand? George!"

George's eyes opened slightly and he mumbled incoherently, but he stood up and wrapped his arm around Ron's shoulder. Harry scooped the other side. "Just hold on tight, okay?" Harry said to both of them.

When the familiar lurching sensation of apparition had ceased, George, Ron, and Harry were in front of St. Mungo's. Luckily the street and sidewalks were relatively empty because normal people were at work or school. "Just a few more steps, George." Ron encouraged him.

George was still mostly unconscious; there were sounds he could hear, but they were muffled and he couldn't respond to them. His eyes were only half open and his legs were incredibly weak.

OoOoOoO

"Hello, we need some help." Harry said calmly.

The woman at the front desk hadn't looked up yet and let out an irritated huff. "Well, you'll have to fill out this paperwork before—" She looked up as she was about to hand over the clipboard. "Oh no. You're Harry Potter." She was stammering. "I am so, so sorry. What can we do for you?"

Harry's celebrity status was still uncomfortable for him. "Erm, I, listen. My friend here, George Weasley, he's sick, we think. This is his brother, Ron—"

"Oh yes, Ron Weasley, I know who you are." She smiled sweetly and Ron blushed.

"Listen ma'am, we just need someone to look at my brother."

"Absolutely." She picked up her wand and put it to her throat. "Healer Victors, you're needed in room 113C." The short woman stood up and straightened her robes. "Follow me, please. Oh and let me get him a wheelchair."

The three situated George into the chair and wheeled him down the hallway. "Right here you are, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

"Thanks." Harry told her as she walked out.

The two struggled to get George into the bed and sat down with a 'humph' waiting on the Healer. He arrived after twenty minutes.

"Sorry it took so long, I was stuck helping an older wizard." He walked over to George. "Is this Arthur Weasley's son?"

Ron spoke. "Yes. And so am I. Do you know our dad?"

"I do. Does he know he's here?"

"No, and could we keep it like that until you figure out what's wrong?"

Healer Victors nodded. He began examining George, taking his temperature, moving his limbs, feeling for lumps, look at his pupils, and tugging at his hair. "George? Can you hear me?" George let out a soft mumble. "My name is Healer Victors. Can you answer some questions?"

George was still only hearing muffled sounds, not aware enough to answer anything. The Healer sighed. "Can you lot answer questions, then?"

"I s'pose." Harry said.

"Okay, well has he been getting regular food and water?"

Ron looked at Harry uncomfortably. "Not really, no."

"And he lives alone?"

Ron and Harry nodded sadly. "Ah yes, I'm terribly sorry. I forgot about his twin." He looked at George's bed with a frown. "How often is family visiting?"

"We go as often as we can. He doesn't much like us being there." Harry stated. "But, I know Ron and I have only been twice. The other family members have gone and he's told them to leave. His friends have gotten him to eat when they've been over a few times." He paused and Ron took over.

"And today we brought food and got him to eat breakfast and have a shower. But he was looking thin and raggedy as soon as we got there." Ron paused with a sad expression. "Is he depressed?"

"Well, I wouldn't doubt it. He has all the symptoms—irritability, sadness, loss of appetite—does he get up and about in his flat?" He saw them shake their heads 'no'. "Lack of motivation and energy… you said you got him to shower today?"

"Yeah. I thought it would help him feel better. He's been in a real bad spot for a long time. But when he came out he looked more tired than before." Ron felt a pang of guilt. "Did we do this to him?"

"No, no, truly." The Healer reassured. "I'm just going to run some tests real quick and see if we're missing anything."

George was listening to the voices around him. He was trying hard to make a sound. He couldn't make out what was being said, but the tone was making him uncomfortable. He felt the Healer putting a firm hand on his shoulder and saying something to him. Soon he felt the twinge of a needle in his arm.

"I'll be back with the results in a few minutes."

Ron and Harry sat George up and tried to get him to ingest some pepper-up potion the Healer had left them, but he was so out of it they were scared he would choke on the liquid. Ron had tears brimming his eyes. "It's my fault. I should've checked on him sooner."

"No, it's not. We all should've been more pushy." Harry reassured.

"But, what if he would've killed himself?" Ron cried.

"Ron, he has no evidence of hurting himself. I'm sure he's sick with something else…"

"He was starving himself, Harry. I feel like I've failed him."

"Ron—" Harry was cut off by the sound of the door opening.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter? Is George awake?"

"No, he's still out of it."

"Ah, then it is what I suspect from his results. It looks like a pretty serious case of Scrofungulus." Ron and Harry's confused faces caused him to explain more. "It's flu-like illness. You get it from a small bug that hides out in dark, dingy places. He's probably got a small bite somewhere."

"Will he be okay?"

"Well yes, for now. We'll have to monitor him as he makes improvement." He patted Ron's shoulder. "It was smart of you to bring him in. If it goes unnoticed for more than a couple of hours it can be fatal."

Both of their eyes widened with horror. "Should we call my mum and dad?"

"I think that would be the right thing to do, Mr. Weasley." Healer Victor walked over to George and began hooking him up to IVs that pumped different potions into his system. "I'll have the nurses come by and check him each hour and I'll come back once before my shift is over."

They nodded. "Harry," Ron asked. "Can you get mum and dad? I don't want to leave him here alone."

"Sure thing." Harry walked out of the room.

George felt Ron grab his hand and squeeze it. "I'm sorry, George. I wish you would've reached out on your own." His voice was trembling.  
"What if this had happened when none of us were there? What would you have done then, you stupid prat?"

George's eyes were hazy and still only half-opened. His ears were feeling slightly less muffled. He could make out what Ron was saying even if it was far away. His stomach was hurting with guilt. What if he had been alone and too stubborn to contact anyone? Would he be dead… just like Fred? He felt his throat tighten and his lips felt dry, but he had to get it out. He was struggling so hard.

"R-ron?" His voice was weak.

"Yes? George?"

"I-I'm s-sorry." He was starting to feel very chilly. And those three words took almost all his energy. He could feel his self slipping back into hazy sleep, but as he was drifting he could feel Ron squeezing his hand in comforting response.


End file.
